Teach Me
by Young-Maiden
Summary: This is a story about what could have been. Had Headmaster Dippet allowed Tom Riddle the position of DADA teacher, young Voldemort may have met his match in the form of a spirited student and younger sister of one of his closest followers.
1. Prologue

_A/N: Finally, I have decided to write my first story. It's about time! This first part of the story is broken up a bit because I'm using different moments from Tom's life to introduce him into the story. Bear with me, people. Comments and critiques would be lovely; I've had this story idea for two years and would really like to know what you think!_

**Disclaimer: the story of Harry Potter and all characters mentioned are the creations of the brilliant Jo Rowling, except for my OC.  
**

* * *

Flurries of snow drifted past the kitchen window of Wool's Orphanage, the tinkling laughter of three women wafting into the hallways. A single lamp was lit at the center of the wooden table they were gathered round as they each poured themselves another glass of cheap wine. A young woman who looked to be in her late twenties and had curlers in her hair gestured with her glass toward the large clock on the wall.

"Half hour to midnight, girls!"

A blonde woman about the same age as her hopped out of her chair. "And you know what that means, Beth." She unlocked one of the cupboards with a key. "Time for me to get out that champagne the old bat's gotten for Christmas!" She paid no mind to the shocked faces of the other two women, nor the chastising "Dorothy Cole!" as she pushed aside bottles in her search. Finally, her hand emerged from the cupboard, fingers wrapped around a bottle of champagne that was covered in shiny red paper. "_'To my dearest Agatha,''_" she read the accompanying card while the others snickered, "_'Congratulations on your retirement. Happy Christmas! Love, Sugar Lips.'_ Sugar Lips?" She doubled over in laughter, Beth slapping a hand over her mouth and their friend choking on her wine.

In the midst of their merriment came an insistent knocking at the front door. All three women abruptly ceased their chortling and glanced curiously at each other. When the knocking came louder, they quickly pulled themselves together and rushed to the foyer. Dorothy reached out and swung the door open, the late December wind whirling in along with some snow. She gasped at the scene before her, and Beth, who stood with the other woman on the other side of the door, whispered, "Dotty?"

A young woman wrapped in a cloak stumbled over the threshold and into Dorothy's arms. "Please!" she rasped. "Please...my baby...my baby...it's coming..." And it was then that Dorothy noticed the woman's hands wrapped around her large pregnant belly.

"Beth! Emmy! Quick– boil some water and grab me some towels. Hurry! We'll be in this bedroom here." The other two scurried off to do as they were told while the newly appointed matron of the orphanage guided the pregnant girl into a vacant room near the foot of the stairs.

The girl collapsed onto a bed as Dorothy turned on the bedside lamp. "He's coming! He's coming!" Her eyes were squeezed shut in pain, but when she opened them Dorothy stepped back, revolted; each eye gazed in opposite directions. It took the older female a moment to find her voice, but when she did, she asked, "What is your name, dear?"

"M-Merope..." She cried out as she had another contraction. Beth and Emmy rushed into the small bedroom with supplies. Dorothy grabbed her hand.

"Come on now, Merope. Can you push for me?" Merope nodded weakly and cried out again. "Almost there...good girl...that's it!" A few more moments passed and then the faint cries of a little baby boy filled the room. Beth and Emmy cleaned him off before handing him to his mother.

"My son...my son..." Merope's peculiar eyes filled with tears. "I hope he looks like his papa."

Dorothy hoped so too, for his sake; his mother certainly wasn't the prettiest girl around. She tucked the girl's ratty hair behind her ear. "What would you like to name him, dear?"

"Tom, like his father. Marvolo for my father."

The other three women traded glances. "And...his surname?"

"Riddle," she said, gazing down at the child in her arms. "Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Merope held him in her arms long enough to greet the New Year before she died early in the first hour of January 1927.

* * *

Rain pelted against the window panes, blurring the outside world to young Tom Riddle's eyes. The loud, raucous laughter and chattering of the other orphans filled the room, yet he kept his back to everyone, not wishing to be there. A scowl tugged at the edges of his mouth, his brow furrowed in annoyance. _Why must they be so rowdy and juvenile? _he thought to himself sourly.

After staring blankly at the window for what seemed to be forever in an attempt to stay calm, Tom angrily rose from where he sat and turned to glare at the others. Ruth was bossing around three year old Addy, and Charles was fighting over some toy with Robert. All the others were running around carelessly, screeching and shouting excitedly.

"That's _my _dress, Addy. Give it here!" With one hand impatiently placed on her hip and the other held out expectantly, chubby Ruth waited for the other smaller girl to give back her belonging.

Wordlessly, Addy hugged the old cotton dress to her chest as if it were some secret treasure she'd found. When Ruth huffed exasperatedly and tried to wrench it from her grip, she quietly pleaded. "No!"

"I..._said–_!" Ruth tried to say, teeth gritted and tugging on the dress. However, her eyes grew wide and she let out a loud yelp. Clutching her dirty blonde hair with a pudgy hand, she looked wildly about the room as if she was looking for someone. "Who did that?"

"Did what?" asked Robert, who had completely forgotten about the toy Charles wanted.

"_Tugged my hair!" _Ruth whined, as if it were completely obvious.

The two boys shrugged and went about their business, and Ruth glared down at Addy. _"You." _The toddler shook her head frantically, fearful of being hit. She winced, and when a slap never came, she tentatively opened one eye. "Ouch! Who did that?" Ruth wailed, rubbing the now sore spot on her head.

As usual, no one even glanced at Tom, who stood silently in the corner of the room watching the whole scene. His dark eyes glinted mischievously and the ghost of a smirk played on his lips. He exited the room, silently laughing at what he had done.

* * *

The water surrounding the tiny boat was still and black. However, Tom knew that lurking beneath the calm and serene surface there were horrors that threatened to haunt him. Swallowing thickly, he withdrew from the edge of the boat and instead huddled in the middle, as if nothing could harm him there.

It was eerily quiet. The young boy tried to ignore it, squeezing his eyes shut and imagining himself miles away. This did nothing to soothe him, though. He sat, stranded, in the center of a murky black lake deep within a cave by the rocky shore. The darkness was pressing down on him– suffocating him, blinding him. His eyes darted around in vain, his hands searching for something to paddle himself onto land. There was nothing. He was completely and utterly helpless. His breath came in shallow pants, his clammy fingers gripping the wooden sides of the small rowboat. He did not like this feeling very much at all. He felt like a– a child! And although, technically, he was, Tom would never say it. No, for children were weak, stupid, and powerless. That was not him, not Tom. He was better than the whole lot of those mangy brats back at the orphanage!

He glowered at the dark abysmal water, annoyed with himself for feeling such a childish emotion: fear. _I am not afraid of anything. It is I who shall inspire fear in others! _And with that thought, he reached out and dipped his hand beneath the icy surface.

It was at the very same moment his fingertips touched the water that something cold as ice suddenly grabbed hold of his hand. Young Riddle's face was frozen with silent shock as he stared at the slimy blue hand latched onto his own. The boat lurched forward with the weight of another hand gripping the edge as a body pulled itself up. His lips parted in a silent scream as he came face to face with none other than his very own corpse. His once dark and brooding eyes were now clouded and lifeless, his lips a deep blue. The flesh of his corpse was pallid and sickly, dark bruises covering its arms like camouflage and his veins disturbingly visible. Black liquid bubbled out of the rotting mouth and nose, causing the dead Tom Riddle to gurgle and draw in great rattling breaths. The decaying hand of his dead self reached out to grab his throat and drag him forward, and he had no time to react before his face plunged beneath the water. Tom Marvolo Riddle closed his eyes, embracing the darkness.

It felt as though the young boy had fallen from a great height when he finally regained consciousness. His dark eyes snapped open and he gasped for air. Sitting up quickly and clutching at the drenched sheets, he looked wildly about the room. Dim early morning light filtered in through the window by his bed, and he noticed that Billy, his roommate, was still fast asleep. His ragged breathing calmed down a bit before he ripped back his bedcovers and let his feet touch the cold floor. Not a single floorboard creaked as he crept past the rooms of slumbering children, for he was quite accustomed to slithering about the halls of Wool's Orphanage.

* * *

This moment would forever be ingrained in his memory. Against a starless sky, Hogwarts castle stood as a beacon in the night, welcoming all the young witches and wizards who floated across the dark water toward it. Many windows were lit with a warm glow, and impressive towers and spires jutted up into the sky.

All of the first years looked on in awe, shrieking and whispering excitedly amongst themselves; however, no one felt quite the way Tom did in that moment. As the boats drew nearer, so did his future. Soon his fate would be set in motion.

As the first years huddled nervously together, waiting to be sorted into their houses, Tom surveyed the Great Hall with sharp interest. All of the older students were already seated at four long tables, with the teachers sitting at a table of their own at the front of the hall. A pair of twinkling eyes met his for a moment– Dumbledore. Tom stared back at the professor with reserve, and when the auburn-haired wizard seemed to be finished studying the young boy, he turned his gaze to the sorting hat.

"Riddle, Tom."

It was a few fateful steps that led him to a stool that sat in front of all of Hogwarts, where a hat was placed upon his head, and a voice whispered in his ear.

"Mmm...indeed, there is conflict within you...Yes, but also a thirst for knowledge and the chance to prove yourself...There is blood that runs through your veins– powerful– the likes of which I have seen before...There is no doubt where you shall be placed, but heed these words: ambition and power can lead us to our goals, but they may also lead us to our undoing...SLYTHERIN!"

Everyone applauded politely for the new Slytherin, and a few of his new housemates hurried to make room for this attractive, mysterious boy. Tom Riddle ignored all of it, focused solely on the secret feeling of joy that swelled within him at knowing he finally belonged somewhere in this world.

* * *

It did not take long for Tom to get integrated into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He listened intently to every lecture and read through each text book until the spines were worn. His hunger to attain more knowledge of the magical world could not be sated, and so he frequented shadowy corners of the library to study the many dusty tomes in solitude. His favorite times, however, were when he wandered through the castle during the night, when the light of the silvery moon streamed through stained glass windows and bathed the ghostly corridors in an eery light.

Despite his initial reluctance to speak to any of the other children, he soon realized that he did not necessarily have to be friends with anyone; he learned how to use his natural charm to make them do exactly as he wanted. It was rather amusing to watch people hopelessly try to meet his approval, to carry out his bidding, and to bow respectfully out of his way. The many females that fawned over him were quite an annoyance, but Tom decided there might be some use of them now and then.

His reputation was stellar: he was at the top of his class, Head Boy, awarded for services to the school, as well as charming and handsome. All of the professors were in the palm of his hand– all, that is, except for Albus Dumbledore. How was it that he could fool everyone except for this old man? It aggravated Tom to no end to have the transfiguration professor always glance knowingly at him over those half-moon spectacles, asking him what he was up to, catching him out of bed as he mused in the moonlight. After the summer when he had murdered his father and framed his uncle for the crime, Professor Dumbledore had stared suspiciously at the ring he then always wore. Tom had met his gaze with barely veiled contempt and slid his hand off of his desk. This man was trying to ruin all of his plans; he was an obstacle, questioning Tom's integrity, and Tom did not like to be questioned.

He had big plans– plans to be the greatest wizard of all time. It perplexed, and even infuriated, him that no one ever strived to be greater than ordinary, that everyone went by the books and never even ventured to the restricted section of the library– to explore everything magic had to offer. In his mind, magic was a great gift– no, a _divine right_ – bestowed upon all wizardkind. He never mentioned the fact that he was half-blood; he had spent a terrible childhood in the muggle world, was sired by that filthy muggle of the same name, and he wanted no part of that world. He was above it all.

During his last year at Hogwarts, he split his soul into three pieces and kept them safe in his ring, his diary, and Salazar Slytherin's locket. These were the first few steps to ensuring his immortality, and they brought about the birth of his new persona: Lord Voldemort.

He had unlocked the Chamber of Secrets during his fifth year, but he felt as though there was still more secrets to be unveiled, more knowledge to gain. Hogwarts had become his home, as well as his domain. If Professor Slughorn could create a following within the student body, there was no doubt that Tom could do the same, if he was granted the position as a teacher.

_Yes, _he decided. _This shall be my next course of action._


	2. So It Begins

_**A/N:**_I would like to thank everyone who decided to follow/favorite/review this story; it means a lot! I would also like to apologize for the delay. I've been to a funeral, in a Miss Teen pageant, lost a dog, and have been getting ready for school. Busy, busy! But here it is: the next chapter. And I plan on starting on the next one right now, so stay tuned. Hopefully I'll be getting my own laptop soon and will be able to update much faster. Muahaha.

Critiques and comments are appreciated. Thank you.

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is the property and creation of the wonderful Jo Rowling.

* * *

After three distinct knocks of the brass griffin knocker, Tom stood patiently in front of the familiar polished oak door. A few muffled steps could be heard before the door swung open to reveal a flustered Armando Dippet.

"Mr. Riddle! Er...please come in, my dear boy!"

Tom smoothly passed the headmaster, entering the circular office and glancing about the room impassively. "I received your response to my letter. You wanted to talk, Professor?"

The old wizard shut the door and walked over to his large, claw-foot desk. "Yes... Yes, why don't you sit down, Mr. Riddle," he said as he settled into his high-backed chair and folded his hands in front of him.

Tom sat fluidly in a chair before the desk, resting his pale, slender hands upon his knees. His back was straight and his head held high, his aristocratic features assembled into a friendly countenance, but his eyes were sharp and attentive.

"Mr. Riddle...Tom..." The professor seemed troubled, and Tom urged him to continue, "Professor?"

"Tom, you have been an outstanding student during all of your years at Hogwarts, provided services to the school– for which we are ever grateful– and you have served well as a prefect and Head Boy. Surely, with this impressive history, you could go on to have an important job in the ministry? You are young, intelligent– success would come easily for you. Why choose to teach at Hogwarts when you have only just graduated?"

The corners of the young wizard's mouth twitched upward, and one elegant eyebrow arched. "You do not mean to dissuade me from teaching, _Professor?"_

"Teaching is a wonderful profession, of course!" Headmaster Dippet hastily added. "However, the position of teacher requires wisdom and experience: things you are too young to have attained yet, I am afraid. Why don't you come back in a few years, and, if you are still interested, reapply?" He smiled nervously at his star pupil, obviously hoping he had not offended him and that he would take his advice and leave.

Tom's long, tapering fingers itched to retrieve his wand and Crucio the man who dare deny him what he wanted, but he remained calm. Deep grey eyes gazed into watery brown ones, and suddenly a memory began to play out.

"_Armando, I believe that giving the boy the Defense Against the Dark Arts position would be very unwise. Not only is he far too young, but I believe he is disingenuous," Dumbledore implored, sitting where Tom sat now._

_Headmaster Dippet's bushy white eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Albus, I have never understood your reservations concerning young Mr. Riddle. I understand he is young, but has he not proved himself worthy over the years?"_

_Dumbledore sighed softly. "Armando, my friend, I cannot fully disclose my reasoning for distrusting Tom, but I hope that you shall strongly consider what I have said. I advise that you do not allow him to come back to Hogwarts."_

_Dippet silently glanced back and forth between Dumbledore's eyes before sighing dejectedly and lowering his gaze. "You make this hard for me, old friend," he laughed wearily before looking back up at the transfiguration professor once again. "I will keep your words in mind while making my decision."_

"_I suppose all there is left for me to say, then, is that, whatever your decision may be, I hope we do not come to regret the consequences."_

_Armando Dippet did not fully understand the meaning of Dumbledore's words._

Tom quickly looked down at his lap and folded his hands while he processed the information he had just stolen from the oblivious headmaster. Dippet, seeing this as a sign of disappointment, immediately tried to console his favorite former student. "I am sorry, Mr. Riddle..."

Leaning forward with wide, innocent eyes, his eyebrows drawn together in concern, Tom began to work his silver tongue.

"Professor Dippet, this– this wouldn't have anything to do with Professor Dumbledore, would it? Oh, ever since he came for me at that muggle orphanage when I was young, he's had this idea that I'm emotionally unstable. I have tried so hard to prove to him that I am perfectly well. I have done so much for this school; I love Hogwarts. Would you deny me this job simply because another teacher doesn't understand me as well as you do?" Tom blinked his pleading eyes, swallowing nervously for the final touch.

Professor Dippet seemed startled for a moment, unsure of what to say, and then his resolve crumbled. "Oh, how could I not hire you? You are by far the best student this school has ever seen."

Tom laid a chilly hand on top of the old man's, speaking softly and coaxing him into the direction he desired. "And would it not be wise to choose the most accomplished applicant for the position, with whom you have already established a good rapport? Bear in mind the fact that whomever you hire will be dealing with young people on a daily basis, and perhaps choosing someone who is in more of a position to understand them will do the students well..."

Professor Dippet's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing in what appeared to be a renewed determination. He had great respect for Albus, but damn it all– this was _his _school, was it not? "That's all there is to it, then: when I see you in September, you shall be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" He stood up, Tom following suit, and shook the young man's hand.

"Actually, sir, I was wondering if I could settle down here right away. You see, I have no other home, and I don't care much to live in a room above the Hog's Head for the whole duration of summer holiday..."

"Of course, of course!" The old man patted Tom's shoulder. "Make yourself comfortable, Riddle. It wouldn't hurt to get started on those lesson plans of yours."

"Right, sir." Tom gave him a charming smile, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

* * *

There was a thick layer of dirt and dust covering the uneven floorboards in Tom's room at the Hog's Head Inn. A narrow bed was positioned against the cracked plaster wall in the center of the cramped room, a thin quilt neatly spread over the old mattress. The last rays of the setting sun streamed through the dirty windowpane above the small table where the young wizard now sat writing a letter. Everything was silent, save for the scratching of a quill against parchment, which paused for a moment as it was dipped back into an inkwell.

His hand moved steadily across the page, his fingers deftly manipulating the strokes of the quill to create an artful script. With a final flourish, Tom set down the quill and quickly scanned over the finished letter before neatly folding it. He used the flame of a nearby candle to melt a bit of wax; the blood red liquid dripped onto the folded parchment, and his ring was used to seal the letter. Turning it over, he wrote a name on the front: _Mr. Caleb Rosier._

"Come, Angel," Tom said in a gentle, yet commanding voice. A pearly grey Eagle Owl flew from its open cage in a far corner and landed on the table. Tom petted her freckled head before tying the letter to her leg. The window's hinges creaked as it was opened, and Angel gazed back at her master with round orange eyes before taking off into the twilight.

The light of the moon reflected in Tom's eyes as he stared after her winged form disappearing into the distance. A gentle, fragrant breeze rustled the treetops and wafted through the window, barely lifting a dark curl that rested on his forehead. He tilted his head back slightly, allowing his eyelids to slowly fall shut, and breathed in the scent of the wind. It was hard to decipher what made up the scent; all Tom could imagine it smelled like was...freedom.

Quickly, he stood straight and shut the window. With a wave of his wand, spare parchment and other writing instruments laid out on the table magically placed themselves into a bag inside a dark green trunk at the foot of the bed. Nimble fingers unfastened the row of buttons down the front of a white shirt that had been worn beneath thin, black robes, and charcoal trousers were replaced with loose cotton sleeping pants. The garments were shed thoughtlessly and folded themselves before being placed into the trunk with everything else.

He grimaced slightly as he settled himself onto the lumpy mattress, which he had Scourgified upon entering the room; perhaps the plushy beds at Hogwarts had spoiled him. With his back settled against the headboard, he summoned a copy of _The Dark Arts Outsmarted_. After a slight rustling of his things inside the green trunk, it flew into his waiting hands, where he proceeded to turn to the page he'd left off on: **How to Subdue a Hungry Vampire**.

His eyes trailed across the page, taking in all of the information in spite of the fact that he found the current topic slightly boring. This was really just a review for himself, seeing as he'd already learned most of what was in this book, but he curbed his desire for darker materials so that he could start outlining his lesson plans.

A smirk played on his lips. How ironic it was that he should be the epitome of everything he would teach his students to defend themselves against. It was going to be most delightful watching the looks on their faces once they discovered who the new DADA professor was. There had been enough people in his year who had fawned over him and leapt to do his bidding, so it was no surprise that all of the younger students saw him as some type of celebrity. It would not be very difficult, he knew, to lure in new recruits for his growing army of Knights.

His brow furrowed and his grin faltered at a different thought: Albus Dumbledore would be relentlessly watching him. The old man had always been suspicious of him, but now Tom knew the questioning would increase tenfold. _So be it. Let the man do what he will; he won't find any sufficient evidence to support his word. I'll make sure of it._

And so, as the budding Dark Lord crafted his dastardly plans, a lone owl soared through the night, delivering a small twist of fate.


	3. The Wrong Hands

It came gently, at first, echoing through the fading images of a pleasant dream. This time, however, the tapping grew louder until it rattled the windowpane. A soft moan was emitted from amongst a mess of blankets, and soon its sleepy owner emerged from the downy sanctuary to shuffle across a polished floor and let in a very cranky owl. The chilly night air crept in through the open window, ghosting over porcelain flesh and parting the fog of sleep.

Seraphina Rosier blinked several times, only just noticing the beautiful owl before her. "Oh, hello there..." The owl clicked her beak impatiently, sticking out her leg so she could be freed of her burden. Seraphina's brow furrowed as she untied the small letter from the owl's scaly leg. She petted the feathery grey head, which caused the creature to lighten up a bit before exiting whence she came. This left the young girl to confusedly turn a sealed letter over in her hands and examine the name elegantly scrawled on the front. Her eyes narrowed.

"Caleb...?" she murmured to herself. She delicately traced the inky script with her fingers. Her older brother had been acting strangely since school had ended for the summer– well, if she was honest with herself, he'd been acting this way for quite a while. He was so secretive, always keeping to himself before stealing away for a few days at a time. He was even more irritable and rude to her than before.

A tired sigh escaped her lips. The desire to suddenly tear open the letter and read its contents was steadily growing within her, but she silenced the thought; this was addressed to her brother, and she would not prove herself to be the nosy little sister he accused her of being. Thus, she set the letter down upon the illuminated sill before shutting the window. Her brother wasn't even home tonight, having donned his cloak and left for some shady purpose, no doubt. She would wait till morning, she decided as she shivered and snuggled back into her bed. Images of dark shadows and mysterious letters floated across her subconscious as she fell back into a deep sleep.

"Sit up straight, Sera."

"Yes, Daddy," Seraphina mumbled as she picked at her breakfast the next morning. Daisy, one of their house-elves, snapped her fingers and filled her empty glass with pumpkin juice. "Thank you, Daisy," she whispered with a smile.

Her father's mouth formed a disapproving line as he looked up from the morning's Daily Prophet. "It's not necessary to thank them, dear. They're doing the work they are meant to do. I've told you this."

Seraphina squared her shoulders, feeling a little bold, and without raising her eyes from her plate, said in a mock sweet tone, "And I've already resolved to disagree with you, Daddy. I've told you this."

She could feel his eyes shoot daggers at her and would perhaps have to pay for her insolence later on, but at the moment she was saved when her brother entered the dining room.

"Ah, son! There you are," Mr. Rosier's voice cheerfully boomed as the young man moved to sit at the dark, polished table. A plate immediately appeared before him, and he began loading it with scrambled eggs. "So, dear boy, what has captured your attention of late?"

Seraphina curiously peered up from beneath long lashes as she spread butter over a muffin. Caleb replied vaguely after swallowing a mouthful of food, "Oh... You know, Father. Just meeting with friends, discussing politics...and other things that interest men of my age." He shoveled a spoonful of porridge into his maw. Seraphina barely stifled an unladylike snort at his referring to himself as a _man_, a thought she found rather amusing, considering he was only eighteen and hardly responsible. He paused in his eating to send her a look of hatred from across the table. "And what have you been up to, _dear sister?_ Chasing butterflies, perhaps?"

She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a fancy napkin and replied nonchalantly, "I happened to brew up a Blood Replenishing Potion and delivered it to the O'Leary household yesterday afternoon." She turned to her father, "Siobhan's had twins. It was a rather difficult birth, and they owled me for medical assistance."

Her father raised his brow, seemingly impressed, saying, "I see they've taught you well at Hogwarts."

Seraphina smiled softly, "Well, yes. That potion isn't anything they teach us in class, however."

Her father gave a short nod and replied distantly as he went back to reading, "I see..." She quietly nibbled at her food, resigned to the fact that this would be all the praise she would receive for the day. Then, a thought struck her.

"Caleb, a pretty grey owl came to my window late last night with a letter. For you."

He sputtered on his tea and coughed before looking up at her, his eyes threatening. "And you took the letter...?"

For a moment, all was silent. Seraphina held her brother's gaze, intrigued. He was obviously worried that she had read the letter, and it made her all the more curious to find out just what he was up to. She would get to the bottom of this, no matter what.

"I placed it on your bureau," was her calm reply, and she inclined her head slightly in response to his silent threat. Caleb searched her eyes, and when he found no lie hidden there, he simply went back to eating his meal. Their father, who had been silent during this whole exchange, glanced dubiously between them before shaking his head and calling for his personal house-elf, Nibs. With a loud _crack, _the quiet old elf appeared before his master.

"Nibs, fetch my cloak and the pouch sitting on my desk," Mr. Rosier ordered, rising from the table and straightening his purple waistcoat. "I need to floo over to the Ministry. Business. Nothing to worry about," he added in a lighthearted tone while flashing a suspicious look at Caleb. Seraphina curiously observed their shared glance, but it was over in a moment and both males continued to go about their business.

_There's something they're not telling me. _The thought struck her like lightening, and it hurt a little. Really, why was she just noticing how in the dark she'd been? How long had she been living life so unaware of her surroundings? Troubled, the seventeen year old rose and quietly excused herself from the room, bidding her father farewell as she brushed past. She didn't bother saying anything to Caleb.

Later, a warm breeze gently caressed her skin as she sat in the lush, sun-dappled grass of her garden. A few wisps of russet hair escaped a loose braid, lilting in the wind and catching rays of sunlight. The notes of some unnamed song she was humming seemed to drift away as she tenderly stroked the leaf of an herb.

This was her sanctuary, a place where she could find solace and gain peace of mind. Her mother had helped her start this garden when she was a young girl and had first become interested in potion making. Together, they had nursed the plants that would be used in all of her potions, and that place amongst the fragrant herbs and blossoms had become theirs alone.

"Mummy..." Seraphina whispered softly as she reached out to a lone, beautiful blossoming rose. But she was startled when a loud, distinct _crack_ sounded from her brother's open window. For a moment she only sat there, gazing in confusion over her shoulder. And then it dawned on her. _He's gone._

Suddenly, she grabbed her skirts and stood, excitement filling her, but then she stopped herself. _Sera, _her conscience warned._ You promised you'd stop meddling in affairs that don't involve yourself. _Pearly teeth tugged at a rosy lip as she debated with herself. She'd hate to be caught in the act of snooping and prove her brother right. _But if I don't get caught..._

It was too much to resist, and before she knew it her skirts were flying behind her as she raced back inside, headed for Caleb's room. Quickly, she caught her breath in the hallway, then gently she grasped the ornate handle and eased his door open. It was like entering a secret lair, except instead of some spooky cave, she found herself in a fairly tidy bedroom. The bed was neatly made, thanks to the house-elves, but there were no personal trinkets of any kind lying around. It seemed to Seraphina that the young wizard was ready to disappear, should the need ever arise. There was no time to dawdle, though, if she wanted to find that letter. She just hoped he hadn't taken it with him.

"Now, where would he put it?" She wondered aloud, hands on her hips and her eyes scanning the room as she thought. Not in his desk. Not in his wardrobe. Not beneath his pillow. "Perhaps..." Dropping to her knees beside a large chest, she pulled her wand out of her apron pocket with a flourish, the chest's brass locks unfastening and the lid flying back at once. Immediately, her eyes were met with nothing but empty space, the hazel orbs scanning the patterned interior in vain– or seemingly in vain, for after a moment they caught sight of something most peculiar. At the bottom of the chest, one corner of the lining appeared to be slightly lifted.

Reaching in, Seraphina gingerly lifted the lining to reveal the very letter she had held the night before. Holding it up before her, she could see that the seal was indeed broken, and so she wasted no time unfolding the parchment. She recognized the elegant script as she read:

_Rosier,_

_ Good news. I will not disclose any details, should this correspondence be intercepted. A meeting shall be held in the wood behind the tavern– you know which one I am referring to. Be there by noon tomorrow. There is much to discuss._

– _LV_

_P.S., Do not arrive late, or I shall be quite displeased._

She reread it twice, absently moving her lips to form the initials "LV". Who could that possibly be? Not anyone that she knew. The letter also stated that there was to be a meeting at noon, a meeting which required her brother's presence.

Seraphina looked out the open window thoughtfully from her place on the floor, not really taking in the sight of the pale sunshine that danced upon the leaves of the swaying trees. _A tavern... _The meeting would take place near a tavern, one that Caleb seemed to be quite familiar with. It couldn't be the Leaky Cauldron, for Diagon Alley was bustling with life among its cobblestone streets. No room for trees there. _The Three Broomsticks, perhaps?_ she thought, yet she somehow knew that this was not the place. And then it dawned on her, and an excited grin tugged at her lips, "But of course!"

And without further ado, she quickly stowed away the letter and disapparated.

Her feet landed firmly upon the ground outside of the Hog's Head Inn, its old wooden sign creaking in the gentle wind. Quickly, she made her way around the building, heading for the edge of the woods. Glancing down at herself along the way, she wondered if perhaps her gardening apron could have been left at home, but no matter– she gripped her wand lightly in her pocket and carefully picked her way through the trees.

There didn't seem to be any sign that some type of gathering was taking place, although Seraphina continued to scan the area as best as she could. The trees were becoming denser, the canopy preventing most of the sunlight from shining down, yet a few rays managed to filter through the leaves. She made sure to avoid any brambles or gnarled roots protruding from the earth, listening carefully for any noises. And then she heard it: the low murmuring of male voices drifting through the air from some hidden place amongst the wild foliage. The voices seemed to be coming from a small clearing, and after peering from behind a few bushes, she could see a group of hooded figures.

"Congratulations, my lord. I knew you would be successful," one figure spoke, bowing slightly. Seraphina's lips parted. _Caleb._

A new voice, smooth and silky, gave the young witch goosebumps as it responded, "Thank you, Rosier, for your good faith." The person spoke louder, then, addressing the rest of the group, "Now that I have secured this position, we may begin to see more progress. Malfoy, I expect you to continue your work with the pureblood aristocrats."

"Yes, my lord," a voice mumbled, its owner bowing deeply.

The apparent leader's voice took on an icier tone, one which made Seraphina's heart skip a beat. "And do not let on to anyone else that these meetings are taking place. Your carelessness required me to obliviate a group of old men at our last meeting. Though it hardly wasted any time, I do not wish to have a bunch of idiots carrying out my plans." A figure cloaked in black suddenly came into view as it walked slowly toward the bent over Malfoy, who seemed to flinch as the tip of a wand was held beneath his chin. "Remember, Abraxas, you are not indispensable to me," the figure in black said silkily.

"Y-yes, my lord..." Malfoy breathed.

The leader stood to his full height, which was considerably tall, Seraphina noticed. He appeared to be somewhat thin and moved with grace, but he gave off a deep sense of danger and foreboding that seemed to permeate the air and constrict her throat. His voice was smooth and somewhat deep; it wasn't rough like her brother's, but melodic in a way. It stirred something within her, and she wondered if perhaps she knew this mysterious person. It was obvious that this man had been the one with the elegant script, the one who had sent the letter– _LV. _She was startled from her thoughts when he spoke again.

"I will meet with you all again over the winter holiday. Do not try to contact me; I will contact you. My new position and close proximity to Dumbledore will require me to be very cautious. The old man, though very odd, is quite clever, and is not to be underestimated. Do you all understand?"

All at once, they bowed, saying, "Yes, m'lord" and "of course".

"Leave, then," was his short reply, and they all immediately dispersed, walking back to Hogsmeade. Seraphina held her breath when he did not move from his place in the clearing, her eyes furtively glancing between him and the other young men who were leaving. Why was he staying? Her hand tightened around her wand. _Should have cast a disillusionment charm..._she thought to herself ruefully. But it was too late now. Any movement from her would surely alert the mysterious man of her presence. Therefore, she remained huddled in the thick brush, shallowly breathing in the musty scent of the soil.

The cloaked figure stood still for a moment before gazing around at the darkening woods. For a moment, Seraphina feared that he was about to call out to her, tell her he knew she was hiding. Indeed, the man appeared quite tense and suspicious, taking a single step toward her hiding spot before there came a rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs to her right. The man quickly raised his wand, only to lower it when a rabbit came hopping out of a bush. She heard him chuckle softly, a deep, pleasant sound that made her heart flutter in quite a different way than moments before. From her view through the bushes, she could tell he was lifting his arms and lowering his hood, but his face was obscured by the leaves. _This is my chance to see who it is!_

But he turned on the spot and disapparated with an echoing _crack_, leaving her alone and clueless. The rabbit shot off in the other direction, startled by the sound. She sighed and shakily rose from her awkward position on the ground, her knees aching in protest. Her hands were covered in dirt, so she wiped them on her apron before smirking. Perhaps it shouldn't have been left home, after all.

Later that night, she sat by the window in her room, bathed and wearing her nightgown. The moon was full and bright, casting a soft white glow upon her face. After everything she heard today, she knew that her final year at Hogwarts was going to be unlike any other. Whoever _LV_ was, he was going to be at Hogwarts, and he may even have been there before. But who was he, and what were his plans?

Seraphina would make sure she knew.


End file.
